


The World's Worst

by undri



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Anxiety, Cheating, Comfort, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Ideation, eating disorder mention kinda sorta, gdi i dont know how to tag this im sorry, hnnmm, medicaiton mention, self deprecation, self negelct, swear words?, theres sex guys watch out, ugh how do yall do this im dyin' squirtle, uhh they have sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7437562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undri/pseuds/undri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is realizing that his and Patrick's relationship isn't a beautiful, magical fairy tale any more. Too much work, not enough play. Always.</p><p>or; Pete open palm slams a 20 dollar bill in exchange for a one way ticket to splitsville with a pit stop in a strangers bed.<br/>(hiatus, working on revising, will update soon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **edit: hi im currently reworking this since this is my first ever like real fic and i do intend on finishing it. ive been extremely busy lately but ive been giving this a lot of thought and im in the mood to break some hearts so ill be back shortly to fix this up and get it back on track.

This is good. The living together, the engagement, the jokes, the smiles, the love. A truly fulfilling kind of 'good', that makes you want to smile but also puke in unison. Maybe it's real, its real in heart and touch. Or maybe he just keeps telling himself this. Fake it 'til you make it is still a thing, right? Some nights, its easy to rest peacefully and revel in the soft warmth of affection. Some nights, however, its dark. Its as if the lightbulb has burnt out, but remains too hot to the touch to remove. Is it even okay to call the bad 'good' when thats the last word in the moment you'd want to say? Pete doesn't have answers, and frankly, hasn't had one since he noticed things turning sour. It was true, he did still see the good. Those mornings when he'd roll over and see Patrick's sleeping form next to his was good. The times where he'd go to sleep alone, and wake up alone, was not. What if this is all fixable? What if's will eat you alive.

Pete walked through the door to their apartment, exhausted to the core. His work was taking a toll on more than just his relationship. Working as an intern for a record label was tough work, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. He had dreams, he had goals. He wanted to sign big bands and promote honest people who made reputable music with good intentions. The type of music that touched the lives of the young, that made them feel wanted and deserving of being here. Of being alive. The type of kid he used to be. Whether he had to work 40 hours or 100 weekly, he didn't care. He was learning, he put his everything into this. He had so much resting on gaining experience. It was becoming a strain on his relationship, but he could just ignore that for a little longer. 

He noticed quickly the house was quiet. “Patrick? Are you home?” The silence was unnerving. He knew Patrick didn't have school right now, or work. Worry started to set in his bones. He set his briefcase down by the door and shrugged his coat off, tossing it onto the couch as he made his way through the hallway, the echo of his dress shoe's soles against hardwood resonated with his pounding heartbeat. He stopped short of the bedroom, noticing the light was peeking underneath the closed door. He stood there for what felt like an hour, mind racing. Why didn't Patrick respond when he called out? The apartment walls weren't thick enough to mask his calls and he knew that as fact. “Patrick?” A few moments later, the door opened and Patrick stood, not meeting Pete's worried gaze, taking particular interest in the floor. “It's 2 am, Pete.” Patrick's voice gave at the end, and Pete's heart welled up in his chest. Patrick's been crying, again. Pete tucked his index finger under his boyfriend's chin, guiding patrick's head up. Pete's eyes met Patrick's and noticed the tear stains on his cheeks. 'I'm a shit boyfriend' kept repeating in Pete's mind as he failed to find his words. “Please don't do this. Please don't cry, baby.” Patrick looked away as Pete moved in, an inch of space separating their chests. “I was lonely. You leave me here and don't give me the heads up. I never know when you're coming home, if you're even coming home.” 'I am the world's worst' Pete thought, and moved his face a fraction, a gentle press of lips was all it took for Patrick's eyes to find Pete's. “You're my home, Patrick. I'll always come home. I promise.” Patrick closed his eyes and pressed his mouth back against his boyfriend's, sighing all his worries against parted, welcoming lips. Pete felt hands comb through his hair, landing to rest on the nape of his neck. He found his own hands rubbing small, comforting circles into the soft skin of Patrick's side where his shirt rode up. Pete could keep his hands on Patrick forever. 

Patrick broke off, sheepish smile on his face. Pete licked his lips. “Are you working on anything important right now, Trick?” “I finished my composition work about an hour or two ago. Class is dismissed tomorrow due to the weather forecast looking pretty shitty.” Pete smiled, really smiled and Patrick's heart skipped a beat. “I could look at you smile all day.” Pete laughed as Patrick's cheeks immediately flushed, almost as if he meant to keep that thought inside. “How would the love of my life respond to a formal invitation to a Denny's breakfast?” That made Patrick snort. “Hmm.. He might say yes. I guess you'd just have to ask real nicely, wont you?” Being the complete cheese ball Pete is known to be, he dropped down on one knee and held Patrick's hand in his. “Baby.. I know I stayed out late at work. But would you spend this fine Thursday morning with me and a Grand Slam with extra hashbrowns?” Patrick tried to stifle a laugh, failing to put on a (convincing) poker face. He lightly tapped his chin with the index finger of his free hand. “Hmmm.. That does sound awfully tempting.. Accepted.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete forgets, Patrick gets upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i have actually a lot of this written out, and its gonna be two parts eventually. i have an outline, but i cant write in a linear fashion so i might be shit at uploading? ugh im talking like people have actually read this or like it ive been out catching pokemon its 2 am n i have work tomorrow morning i just want to be a cool kid like yall spare me?
> 
> they fight a lil not physically just verbally raisin' voices

Pete found himself at his desk, surrounded by paper skyscrapers; business contracts he needed to proof read before sending them off to the hands of tomorrow's hottest musicians. He swears up and down that for every one he finishes, two more appear out of thin air. He has worked late every day this week. And last week. He has to remind himself that all of this will soon pay off. His mind wanders about the ideas of “making it.” One day, he'll be the one doing the hand-shaking, not the grunt work and honestly, that day cannot come soon enough. But tonight, well, tonight did not look so promising. He glanced at his watch, realized that the battery had died, and immediately reached for his phone. 9:54pm. 4 texts from Patrick. Fuck. Anxiety immediately settled beneath his skin as he scrolled though their chat log.

“I got off work early, can't wait to see you. 4:13pm”

“Joe asked me grab coffee with him so I said yes. I'll be out a few hours. Will I see you when I get home? 5:00pm”

“Pete... You need to come home, this is really starting to piss me off. 7:04pm”

“Don't wait up for me, I'll be out. 9:13pm”

“Fuck” Pete swore under his breath and pressed “voice call” next to Patrick's contact name.

Pete could feel the cold sweat running down his neck, the guilt dripping into the pits of his stomach. On the third ring, the line connected. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hang up on you, Wentz.” Pete bit his lip. Did he even have a reason, let alone a good one? “Baby I'm so sorry, my watch died and I loss track of time. It feels like work is swallowing me.” He could practically feel the glare Patrick was giving him through the phone. He was not getting out of this one in one piece. “Do you not even care any more?” Patrick spat through the phone. Pete could hear the faint feedback of laughter and music through the speaker. “Trick, where are you?” Patrick laughed.“Better question, why aren't you here with me?” Patrick's a good guy, but a spiteful one nonetheless. “Fuck, I said I'm sorry. What more could you want from me? I'm working so hard not just for me, but for you, too!” Raising your tone at Patrick was never a good idea. Shit. Pete opened his mouth to apologize, but ended up swallowing it as Patrick was much quicker with his words. “For me? You're ignoring me for me? Okay. Fine. You want to be this way? You can make yourself comfy in your pity party tonight, I'm out with Joe at the EP release event I mentioned last week.” “Shit, that was tonight?!” Strike two.

Patrick sighed into the receiver. “See you around Pete. Drive safe, or don't.” And with that, the dial tone buzzed but Pete couldn't find the strength to lower the phone from his ear. What was happening? Why can't Patrick see how hard Pete is working? He closed his eyes, phone falling from his hand onto the floor. Heartache's a bitch. He picked himself up, unsteady on his feet. 'When was the last time I ate?' The thought ran through Pete's head and realized, oh right, he forgot to do that today. Just like he forgot yesterday, too. Briefcase, coat, wallet, phone, keys. Check. The record label's office wing was on the 3rd floor of a towering commercial powerhouse stationed the middle of downtown Chicago. The view from the office was gorgeous, Pete had to admit. The sun had set long ago, small speckles of pale white contrasted against pitch black. Bracing himself for the unforgiving chill of winter, he buttoned his coat up to his throat and opened the door to the stairwell. An inconvenience only known to Pete, since he was the only one to be kept in the building so long after hours, all elevators stopped running after 9pm. “Drive safe, or don't” Like a broken record, Patrick's voice played back through Pete's head. Could thinking too much kill you? Can you die of thought? If so, Pete was on the edge of life and death. Cold wind pierced through Pete's coat, hitting his skin as he walked the threshold of what he jokingly, and sometimes not jokingly, refers to as his second home. Hah. Good one, right? Pete doesn't laugh at that one any more.

To an outsider, the drive home was silent. To Pete, it was hellish. His thoughts were clamorous; Just an inch of being too much. Radio static, elevator music, the screams of distressed damsels, pots and pans clattering against each other vivaciously. His thoughts halted at the sight of his apartment complex. His real home. Pete parked and looked up at his window, and to no surprise of his own, the light's were off. Patrick is still out. Doing whatever it is Patrick and Joe get up to. Pete opened the glove box and felt his fingers across a small box. Cigarettes. He plucked one from the box, popping it between his teeth and picked out the lighter that shared living space with his smokes. One could tell Pete didn't do this habitually. Not any more. He lit up, inhaling smoke deep into his lungs before setting the box back in its home and shutting the compartment.

He pocketed his wallet and keys, stepping out of his car. He kicked back, knocking the door closed with his foot as he walked around to the hood. Doing this always reminded him of high school, when someone would accompany him, backs pressed to car hoods, star gazing with fingers pointed high, a match to see who spotted the most constellations. Bonus points if they could name them. He took another long drag, smoke mixing with cold air. He felt his body tense, but in a way didn't pay any mind. He needed this, whatever this was. He could honestly watch smoke mix with cold breath all day, the way it swirled and danced gracefully against a black canvas sky was mesmerizing. So much, that Pete hadn't noticed the car pulled up beside him. “Pete?” 

Cold sweat again. Cold sweat and cold air do not mix. Pete shivered violently, voice giving. “Patrick?” He took one last, long drag of his cigarette and tossed it. Exhale. Pete opened his eyes to meet Patrick's worried ones. Patrick leant in and gently traced a warm hand across Pete's cold neck. “Baby, you're freezing.” Pete's hand came to rest on top of Patrick's, cold fingers brushing over the other's knuckles. Patrick turned and waved Joe off. The sound of running engine grew distant until silence took over. Patrick huffed, climbing onto the hood. Pete's attempts of sitting up were thwarted as Patrick nestled his face into the crook of his boyfriend's neck. Pete curled his arm around Patrick's shoulder, protectively pulling him closer. “I'll eat you up I love you so.” Patrick spoke softly, breath ghosting across Pete's skin. “I'm sorry. I love you the most. I'll love you forever.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh ohhhHHHHH panic attacks n The Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this aint hot shit but uhh yeah here we go  
> its 5 am yeah buddy
> 
> i have computer problems and like 400 things to do tomorrow (pokemon go is one of them)

It's been a few days since “i love you” rolled off either of their tongues. It wasn't like Pete and Patrick were avoiding one another, not at all. They just happened to be in completely different places at any given time. However, the more Pete stayed out Patrick did as well, exchanging time spent alone at the apartment for time spent alone in the University library. Trying to juggle a job and go to class was proving to be more difficult than once thought. And with only the sliver of support he was receiving from his boyfriend, the weight of it all felt unbearable. Stupid fucking exams with stupid fucking teachers after a stupid fucking barista job with virtually nothing from stupid fucking Pete. His grades were slipping awfully fast. Well, if you considered “slipping” to be synonymous with “crashing and burning at light speed.” Failing was not a good look on Patrick. When he was out, be it work or class, he had to constantly occupy himself to stave off the growing amount of self loathing from making itself comfortable in his head.

Its safe to say they've both been out of it.

It's also been a few days since Pete had felt comfortable in his own skin. Every day has been reduced to an internal altercation between head and heart. He strived for a balance between work and play. All the wishes one gets from dandelions, shooting stars, and 11:11's were a cry for simplicity. For control. One more day without those little white pills, one more day foregoing food, one more day cooped up in his office far past hours proved to be burdensome. And yet, he can't stop. Being persistent with work, being on top of the ball meant everything to Pete. It's okay to admit to yourself that your significant other isn't first on your agenda any more, right?  
\- - -   
“Hey, what're you doing?” Pete's voice sounded overworked. His entire body felt overworked. Having been a Friday, and having been done with the majority of his work by 7pm, Pete was definitely ready to leave the office and enter the realm of the living again. “Oh, not much, I'm just at the library. School is fucked. My life is fucked. No big deal to you, though.” Pete winced at the sarcasm dripping from Patrick's voice like thick syrup. Pete knew there were no words favourable enough to please Patrick in this moment. 

“I didn't know that your classes were getting difficult for you? Why didn't you tell me, I could've help you out, dude.” “You? Help me? Pete are you blind? The only thing you do is work, you don't really stick around all that much any more. If you're not around how the flying fuck are you supposed to help me at all?” Patrick snapped, and Pete could feel the resentment in those words like a punch to the stomach. “Hey, hey now. I called to check up on you, to see if you wanted to go out tonight but if you're really not having it I can stay out of your way and finish some more paperwork. Don't be such a brat, Patrick.” 

The line cut to dial tone.

Pete didn't even mean for that conversation to go sour. It wasn't meant to spoil so quickly. I guess that's what happens when you're the world's worst. Coat on. Keys in left hand. Briefcase in right hand. Wallet and cellphone in pocket. Anxiety in heart. Hate in head. 

The drive home was quick, though not painless. Cold sweats, paranoia, and anxiety attacks quickly replaced laughter, love, and self control. Everything is fine. Pete swears. Pinky promises.  
\- - -   
The lights were on in the apartment, escaping through the tiny spaces between closed blinds. Which meant someone was inside. Which meant Patrick was home, and Pete wasn't completely sure if he should even show his face tonight. What a shitty thought, having to debate whether or not to enter your own home. Pete ran his hands down his face, wishing he could wipe away the shame and disgust that Patrick saw. To just scrub off the layers of worn skin, ugly thoughts, to be able to wash the anger off his lips, to erase all the maliciousness and restore himself to the person he was; The person that Patrick fell in love with. Without another thought, Pete gathered his briefcase in shaky arms and made his way to the apartment. His breathing quickened, head reeling and knees weakening with every unsteady step. After three failed attempts of unlocking the door, success was on his side. His briefcase hit the ground with a loud thud, hands too jittery to hang on. Pete couldn't control his breathing as his thoughts raced through his head, gruesome shrieks of animosity threatening to spill out his ears for everyone to hear. He hadn't even notice he was on the ground in full hysterics. His mind just wouldn't stop, that's all he wanted for this to stop for a minute. To take pity on him, no matter how undeserving. 

It wasn't until he felt two warm hands on the sides of his face that he opened his eyes. “Pete, Pete breathe! It's okay, I've got you.” Pete gripped Patrick's wrist, pressing into his touch. Pete felt so much heat radiate off Patrick's palms, like love that burnt through his skin. “Please love me.” Pete coked out between heavy sobs. Patrick leaned forward and pressed his lips soft against his boyfriend's forehead. “I already do, idiot. I do, I do, I do.” It was a strange scenario, Pete collapsed on his knees before Patrick, who sat cross-legged, in the entryway of their shared apartment. 

Pete's sobs had calmed, and eventually his breathing was in sync with Patrick's. Its a trick he learned in therapy as a teenager to help keep calm when panic decided to eat its way into his head.

Once Pete had calmed down, Patrick leaned forward to press a soft kiss against his lips. Pete kissed back, dropping his hand's from their hold on Patrick's wrists to rest on his soft, denim clad thighs. Patrick broke off, mouths inches apart. “Hold on, I'll be right back.” Pete gave a small whimper as he watched Patrick retreat. A moment later, Patrick came back with a glass of water and a full dose of pills. “You need to take these, Pete. I'm not so sure you have been lately.” “I don't need to.” Patrick huffed, sitting back down in front of Pete. The sight was difficult for Patrick to swallow, he looked so dejected and Patrick could only imagine Pete felt even worse. “You do. Don't do this, Pete. Don't think I haven't noticed.” 

Pete dropped his gaze and stuck his hand out, palm up, accepting defeat. One small white pill, one pink and white capsule, and one pill Pete wasn't quite sure of. “What's this one? This isn't mine.” “Its melatonin, it's to help you sleep.” White pills in hand turned to a giant white flag of surrender as he popped them into his mouth, accepting the glass from Patrick and washing them down. Leaving the glass on the floor, Patrick stood and helped Pete to his feet. They walked into their bedroom, Patrick picking out pajamas for Pete as he shucked off his dress pants and button up. The bed welcomed their worn out bodies, comfort residing in a sea of sheets and duvets. Patrick rolled half on top of Pete, pushing his face into the side of Pete's neck. Soft puffs of air against skin sent shivers down his spine, like yarn knitting itself between each vertebrae. One arm wrapped around Patrick's shoulders, keeping him close, as one lazily rested by his side. Pete couldn't help but fiddle with the silver band around his left ring finger with his thumb. Like a house of cards falling from a small gust of wind, his heart sank far down into the depths of his stomach. It's okay to forget you're engaged sometimes, right? It's normal to think of your fiancé as your boyfriend still.

“Night.” Patrick spoke softly, lips barely meeting Pete's skin. Pete whispered it back as his vision fixated on the ceiling.  
There was no chance of sleep tonight, not even a blink.


End file.
